GULLIBLE
gul·li·ble
adjective
Easily persuaded to believe something; credulous.
synonyms: credulous, naive, over trusting, over trustful, easily deceived, easily taken in, exploitable, dupable, impressionable, unsuspecting, unsuspicious, unwary, ingenuous, innocent, inexperienced, unworldly, green
I have a real problem with…bending the truth.
Never mind that, let’s call it what it is: lying.
I was slow to learn that deception can be so blatant. But I did…eventually.
Now you can deliver an untruth to me on a silver platter, but I’ll still call bullshit on it all day long. Why?
Um…because it’s a lie!
Here’s what I mean.
People that accept all the accolades and compliments because they look so goddamn great for their age — that have clearly had surgical help.
Pahleeeeez!
Mascara commercials where the actress is very obviously wearing false eyelashes.
Come on.
A twenty-eight year old, airbrushed within an inch of her life, pitching us fifty something’s wrinkle cream. “Gee, maybe I’ll look like that if I spend one hundred dollars for an ounce of this magical concoction made from the frothy uterine lining of a unicorn.”
What do you take me for, a fucking moron?
Just how gullible do you think I am?
What about vacation rental listings?
Cozy little cottage by the beach.
The pictures online look idyllic.
“You’re so lucky it’s still available”, the woman gushes over the phone. The word miracle is even used, and you know how that gets me going.
So I plunk down a hefty chunk of change and when I arrive at the destination I’m convinced Garmin is stoned.
“The destination is on your right.”
“Stop it Garmin, don’t fuck with me! I just drove six hours and I’ve gotta pee like a racehorse.”
I blink, then blink again, slowly sliding my sunglasses down my nose to get a clearer view. Then I roll down the window.
Still sucks.
EJECT — Out comes the CD. There is no soundtrack for moments like this.
I want to vomit.
There it is in front of me, all set for our Labor Day weekend pleasure.
An itty-bitty shit hole of a shack. Over a mile away from the beach. There aren’t even seagulls overhead or any traffic, that’s how far away my beach cottage is from actual sand and surf.
I fumble inside my beach bag which is doubling as my purse for the weekend. Lost inside is the printout from the agency, never taking my eyes off the disaster in front of me, I find it.
I’m in shock, it’s a train wreak — therefore it’s impossible to look away.
That’s when I realize that mid road trip, (probably about the time I was reaching for change at Foster Freeze), my sunscreen opened and has thoughtfully covered pretty much everything in my bag with its SPF 50.
Even so, I can still make out the address. 12 Gorgeous Vista Road.
It’s a match, but it ain’t gorgeous and it has no vista to speak of.
Fuck. Even the name of the street tells a lie.
It is smaller than my first single apartment, yet it says right on the page in front of me: sleeps six.
My mind leaps ahead a few hours. Fitting all of my friends inside that shack will be like stuffing a clown car.
What to do, what to do?
See, here’s the problem: who do I kill first?
The gullible one who drank the rental agency Kool-Aid (me), the crazy red-head at the agency who was so chirpy as she handed me the keys? (Sucker, that’s what it says on my form in her office — I’m sure of it — Sucker Bertolus.)
The pimply faced guy at the car rental agency who said it wasn’t far, (it was) and that it was in a great neighborhood (it isn’t)?
It’s clear to me now that they are all in cahoots.
Wait…was that a gunshot?
Window…up.
What about all those helpful friends who gave me the name of this agency and had such glowing vacation house stories?
They all get to live.
It was me. It was my fault.
I was over trusting and easily exploitable.
I should be in every advertising test group. I’m their target idiot audience.
I made a vow right then and there that I would never fall for that sort of LIE again. That I would pay the other half of the deposit after I saw the property, and that I would carry a separate smaller purse inside my beach bag.
Just like I wanted to believe that the last available house on a holiday weekend was Shangra-fucking-La, I want to believe that a mascara can give you the same lush lashes as two pairs of falsies, (I have a drawer full of both), and that applying an expensive miracle cream will erase fifty-seven years of laugh lines, (same drawer).
Am I gullible or have I been lied to? What do you think? Both?
How gullible are you guys? Stories please.
Carry on,
Xox
